


And None Shall Twain Them

by emeraldoliverqueen (rebelarkey)



Series: All At Once [16]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - World War I, Angst, F/M, Reunion, kinda character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22595341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelarkey/pseuds/emeraldoliverqueen
Summary: They’d all told her that he was dead.  But Felicity Smoak-Queen refused to believe that.  She wouldn't give up on him just like he wouldn't've give up on her.WWI reunion fic
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Series: All At Once [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/246337
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49





	And None Shall Twain Them

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mare9548](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mare9548/gifts).



> Hi, this is for @green-arrows-of-karamel Mare; part of the Goodbye Olicity Online Gift Exchange.
> 
> Sorry! I hope you can forgive me for the angstyness that I accidentally wrote, with HEA ofcourse. This is a WWI Olicity AU (aka Shale was watching waaaaay too much Anne of Green Gables so any fans will probably recognize this scene) This will probably be my last Olicity fic so I hope everyone enjoys it. Here’s to ARROW and OLICITY and the best EIGHT YEARS. 
> 
> I love you all!

They’d all told her that he was dead. 

The informal letter from the US Army expressing condolences for her loss, the empty platitudes of gratitude for a service well done. She’d burned the letter. 

John Diggle, his commanding officer, had shown up at her door with grief in his eyes and apologies on his lips. She’d slammed the door in his face. 

Roy Harper, the boy who’d followed him to war, who worshiped the very ground he’d walked on, who’d lost an arm that very day, in the same battle, by the very same explosion that had taken _his_ life, who sobbed with pain and horror-filled memories– she’d listened, hugged, comforted, but refused to be convinced. 

Felicity Smoak-Queen refused to believe that her husband was dead. 

In her gut she trusted, in her mind she knew, and in her heart she had faith that Oliver was still alive, fighting to come home to her. 

As a code-breaker for the US Army-Intelligence, she had access to information most war widows did not. She was the receiver and decoder of good news and bad, horrific details of battles lost, and the utter relief of ground recovered. 

When Oliver was found alive, she’d be the first one to know. 

Every telegram she decoded she hoped that it was news of her husband. Accounts of losses, of German U-Boats, or trenches in France faded while she was desperate for any news of her lost lover. 

For that’s what he was, lost. 

Missing In Action. 

Until they presented her with a body, and not just identification papers, Felicity would hang on to hope.

But then, the war ended. 

The treaty of Versailles was signed, victory for the Allies, and prisoners of war released, ransomed, or recuperated. Still no word or sign of her husband. 

Her job in the intelligence office was over, no letters to decode, no telegrams to read. On her last day, the Director gave her a shake of his head, a small smile, and told her the war was over, she could go home and she be happy.

She didn’t and she wasn’t. 

Instead she wandered the streets of Starling City, avoiding drunk and ecstatic soldiers with their wandering hands. The quiet soldiers, the ones with their heads down, hobbling down the street she stopped, peering into their faces, hoping to recognize the man she loved in their dull, glassy eyes. 

Only strangers remained. 

Seven days later America celebrated, showering the skies with fireworks and parades. Ignoring and hiding the wounded veterans, the thousands dying of influenza, and the bloody cost of peace. 

Her friend came and dragged her out of the house, stating that it was Independence Day, the war was over, and they should celebrate. Felicity just hoped that celebrating involved alcohol, though soon, if legislature had it’s way, all alcohol would be banned and prohibited.

Felicity wandered through the booths, feeling as though this was a dream, happening to someone else. No one could be this happy if they had lost everything, like she had. Her husband, her love and joy for the future, the man who’d seen the very best in her when she hadn’t. When she had believed that she was trash, destined to end up with the same fate her mother had– used, whored, and destroyed by consumption. 

Oliver had seen her and convinced her that she had more to bring to this world, that her mind was brilliant, she was smart. He was the best of her and she had no idea what she would become without him. 

She ended up near the bandstand, where two tipsy women were singing loudly to the crowd. Just as they finished their song they spotted Felicity, and insisted, with the help of the crowd, for her to join them in their next rendition. 

‘Let me call you sweetheart’ was selected and off the two women went, loud and proud. Felicity half-heartedly sung along. 

Until the crowd parted a hint, and through the small gap she spotted a small cluster of soldiers, US Army. One had a vaguely familiar height, with similar shoulder span. She stopped singing, praying he’d turn, begging the strange man to show her his face. 

He turned! And showed his profile, and she hoped. Felicity jumped off the stage, heedless to the protests of the women, and lost sight of him in the crowd. She weaved through, her heart in her mouth, shoving and pulling and hoping against all proof that she’d found him. 

And then, like the dawn cresting over the horizon, she beheld his face, his beloved face! Her Oliver, her home, in front of her. 

The same myriad of emotions swelling within her reflected on his countenance and they embraced, hugging and kissing and murmuring words of reunion. Her heart was whole, the missing piece returned. The warmth from his body illuminated the darkened corners of her soul, fitting against her physically and spiritually. 

Her husband was alive!

Too soon they parted, but their eyes refused to disconnect. As though underwater she could hear the bark of a command, of a stranger calling her husband lieutenant Queen. Felicity heard it but heeded it not, connected by the strength of her husband’s gaze. 

Until it was broken. 

Her gaze was ripped away by a harsh man grabbing her husband, scolding him in heat, her hand held tight in his grasp. 

He was leaving again, too many things left undone by the crimes of war. But her husband was alive, in her arms and in her heart. 

As he walked away, Felicity tightened her grasp in Oliver’s and followed him, never wanting to be apart from him again. Where he goes, she shall go, and none shall twain them. 


End file.
